The night air smelled of smoke and burning metal. From the rooftop, Nate looked down at the chaos unfolding below. Fire raged through the streets, reflecting off the shattered glass of broken windows. People ran in panic, and amidst the destruction stood a figure—a new threat.
He was tall, draped in tattered robes that flickered like shadows in the wind. His face was obscured beneath a silver mask, etched with ancient markings. In his right hand, he held a staff, its tip pulsating with a dark, crackling energy.
Nate narrowed his eyes. "Great. Another one."
Antrasite's voice hummed in his mind. "This one… is different."
Before Nate could ask what that meant, the figure lifted his staff and struck it against the ground. A shockwave of dark energy pulsed outward, flipping cars and hurling debris into the air. Nate barely had time to leap before the force crashed into the building, shaking its foundation.
Henry's voice crackled through the communicator in Nate's ear. "You seeing this?"
"Yeah," Nate muttered, landing on the pavement below. "And I don't think he's here for a chat."
The First Strike
The masked figure finally spoke, his voice deep and distorted. "You are the vessel."
Nate tensed. "And you are…?"
The figure tilted his head slightly, as if considering whether to answer. Then, with a flick of his staff, tendrils of dark energy lashed toward Nate.
Nate reacted on instinct. He dodged left, flipping over a wrecked car as the tendrils struck the ground where he stood. Sparks erupted, the pavement cracking apart.
Antrasite's energy surged within him. "Let me in, Nate. You can't fight him alone."
Nate clenched his fists. "I've got this."
He charged forward, his body flickering with blue energy. He swung a punch, but before his fist could connect, the figure vanished into a swirl of shadows, reappearing behind him.
A powerful strike to Nate's back sent him crashing through a nearby wall.
Pain flared through his ribs. He groaned, pushing himself up.
Henry's voice crackled in his ear. "Okay, new plan—don't let him hit you."
"Great advice, Henry," Nate grumbled, shaking off the dust.
The figure stepped closer, lowering his staff. "You are unworthy of the power you hold."
Nate wiped blood from his lip. "Yeah? Well, you talk too much."
With a surge of energy, he launched himself forward again.
A Dark Revelation
As the battle raged, Henry frantically worked through his database, scanning through ancient texts and symbols. Something about the masked figure felt eerily familiar.
Then he found it.
The screen flickered, revealing an old illustration—an entity known as The Harbinger.
Henry's stomach twisted.
"Nate," he called urgently. "This guy… he's not just another rogue jinn."
Nate, mid-dodge, barely had time to respond. "Kinda busy, Henry!"
"You need to listen! He's a Harbinger—a messenger of the ones trapped in Catraz. He's not here to kill you—he's here to prepare for something worse."
Nate's blood ran cold. He barely dodged another strike before responding. "Prepare for what?"
The Harbinger's eyes glowed through his mask.
"For the return of the forsaken ones."
Before Nate could react, the sky above them split with a deafening roar. Dark energy spiraled upward, forming a rift in the sky. Shadows slithered through the crack in reality.
Nate swallowed hard.
"Henry… I think we have a really big problem."